Life is a Cookie
by OwlinAMinor
Summary: Iggy is determined to win over Ella.  And he has a plan.  It's a good one, too.  But what he doesn't know is that Ella has her own plans ... and they both end up surprising each other.  Short, 5-chapter Eggy fluff fic. COMPLETE!
1. Invitation

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**CHAPTER 1: INVITATION**

**Disclaimer: Look at me. Do I look like James Patterson to you? Would James Patterson be wearing a Hunger Games t-shirt right now and have stayed up most of last night reading Mockingjay (which was kinda disappointing), do you think? I thought not. So obviously, I don't own Maximum Ride.**

**Iggy: NO DUH YOU DON'T!**

**Me: I didn't ask you.**

**Iggy: Are you sure?**

**Me: Yes. Also, thanks to the awesome CrazyNerdyFangirl for beta-ing this. :)**

**Iggy: Her stories are awesome.**

**Me: Oh, and FYI: this takes place after FANG.**

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"So . . . um . . . Ella . . . I was . . . um . . . wondering if . . . um . . . you would . . . um . . . like to . . . um . . ."

"Spit it out already, Iggy!" the most beautiful girl in the galaxy (a.k.a. Ella Martinez) laughed, her voice like pealing bells. I couldn't see her, but I knew she was beautiful. How could she not be? Kind, caring, gentle, smart . . . a thousand-times-less-antagonizing-and-much-better-cook version of Max . . . Ella was everything and more a guy like me could hope for. Not like I was getting her, of course. I was blind, for God's sake. Blind, winged, annoying, a "total pervert" (according to Max, Nudge, and Angel), constantly on the run from evil super-villains out to kill me and my family, showering once a month if I was lucky . . . why would a goddess like Ella even think of looking my way?

However, I had a plan to change all that.

And it was a good one, too. (Believe it or not, I can, in fact, come up with intelligent plans. I'm much better at thinking up romantic plans than Fang, actually. His idea of a good plan was to tell his girlfriend that he would leave her for 20 years after he had promised never to leave her again.)

I digress. (Which is another one of my horrible qualities. Also, I overuse parentheses. I'm parenthetical. Is that even a word? If it is, it's an awesome word. No! Fnick! I'm doing it again! Honestly, I should make a list; the bad qualities of Iggy . . . what is my last name? Do I even _have_ a last name? See, another item for the list. Three already. That's saying something. And . . .)

"What, Eraser got your tongue? Spit it out!"

Oh. Right. Ella. In case anyone forgot, I had been asking something incredibly important when she demanded me to "spit it out".

She was my angel, I couldn't say no to her. (. . . I sound like Romeo. Give it a week and I'll be writing love poetry! Oh wait, I already do that . . . fnick . . .)

So, I spat.

"Ew! Gross! What _is_ that?" came her lovely voice.

I picked up the miniscule, wet, slimy, gooey chunk of matter I had been chewing for the past couple of hours from the pearl-white shag carpet on the floor of her house's living room and examined it as well as you can examine something when you're blind. The thing was a yellow-green color not unlike puke, I derived from my color-sense, and held the aroma of a rotting corpse.

Needless to say, I dropped it faster than you can say "Bobserunkle!" Wait . . . "Bobserunkle!"? Who says that? Besides British people . . . ah, the knowledge you gain from watching too many cheap British sitcoms . . .

"What _is_ that?" Ella repeated her query.

"I honestly have no idea," I replied.

"Well, where did you get it?"

"Um . . . I found it . . . in the forest . . . at least, I _think _it was the forest . . ." By the forest, I meant the park near Ella and her mom's house. We, meaning the Flock and I, were staying there for a week while we tried to figure out our next move in taking down the newest evil super-villain for us to defeat – some weird doctor with a name that sounded like a brand of ice cream.

"That is so disgusting," she stated. "I can't believe you just picked up and chewed on something that was on the ground. Do you have any idea where it's been? Do you have any idea what kind of diseases that thing could have? What were you thinking? Are you insane? Who even –"

_I'd rather be insulted by you than any other girl in the world_, I thought to myself, listening to her tirade.

". . . wait, what did you say?" Ella broke off.

Had I said that out loud? Major oops. Careless and stupid – more for the Bad Qualities of Iggy list.

"I said . . . I'd rather be sick by poison than never try anything new." Lame and nonsensical, I know.

"You are so weird," she said, laughing. She had such a beautiful laugh, like the tinkling of bells. Or have I mentioned that already? Well, I can say it again and again and again, because it's true . . . she has a beautiful laugh, she has a beautiful laugh, she has a be-

"So, anyway, were you going to ask me something?" the girl in question interrupted my daydreams.

. . . Darn girls and their memories that are perfect whenever it comes to guys embarrassing themselves. Which I was about to do. For the fifth time in five minutes.

"?" I blurted out, all in one breath, panting like a dog afterwards.

"You mean, like, a date?" Ella's voice was skeptical. Did she not like the idea? Did she not like me? Oh, please, God, or whatever is up there (huh, maybe I should become more religious, it might help me in life) don't let that happen . . .

"Yeah, kinda," I answered warily. If there was one thing you learned from Max, it was how to keep a good poker face – er, poker voice – er – never mind.

"Okay, sure, I'll come! And I'll bring snacks!" she exclaimed cheerfully, bounding out of the room.

"It'll be tomorrow at 10:00am," I called after her. So did she like the idea or not like the idea? Well, she _was_ bringing snacks, so whatever happens, at least I wouldn't go hungry. Because everyone knows hunger is the worst thing ever. After Ella rejecting me, of course.

Women. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em.

* * *

**Me: So … awesome? Weird? Funny? Confusing? **

**Iggy: Awesome. Because it has me in it.**

**Me: If you click that little button, you will get virtual bacon. **

**Iggy: She isn't kidding. I had some. It was yummy.**


	2. Liftoff

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**CHAPTER 2: LIFT-OFF**

**Disclaimer: I read Maximum Ride by way of my town's library. Therefore, I did not write it. Therefore, I do not own it. (A little bit of mathematical-type proving for you. :D)**

**Iggy: Geometry geek much?**

**me: *slaps Iggy***** Enjoy the chapter, everybody!**

**Iggy: I know you will ... because it has ME in it!**

**me: That joke is getting old. Oh, and once again, thank you to CrazyNerdyFangirl for beta-ing. :)  
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"Three . . . two . . . one . . . we have liftoff," said the air-balloon manager in a dull, toneless voice, as if he did this kind of thing five times a day (which he probably did).

Ella, bundled up by her anxious mother-who-reminds-me-why-I-like-not-having-parents in three wool sweaters and Ugg boots ("It can get pretty cold up there, you know!"), but gorgeous nonetheless, was not nearly so bored.

"OHMYGODTHISISSOEXCITINGICAN'TBELIEVEI'MFLYINGFREALLYFLYINGIT'!" she screeched, her voice a good two octaves higher than normal.

I cowered from her, my hands over my ears. "I can feel my eardrums being burned by your insanely high, loud, squeaky voice," I informed her. It was true. My ears were much better than normal people's ears, because I relied on them a lot more than normal people do. Unfortunately, this also meant that I was much more sensitive to loud, high, squeaky sounds (like Ella's scream, for example) than normal people.

Ella sounded hurt. "Life tip number 628: Never insult a girl while you're on a date with her."

"But . . . it's not a date!" I protested pathetically. I could feel my face reddening. Soon I would look like a tomato. Which, of course, was a bad thing. Would _you_ want to go out with a tomato? I think not.

"You just _wish_ it was a date," Ella contradicted, moving closer to me so that our jean-clad thighs touched, causing me to shiver. I breathed in her scent, like chocolate mixed with something I couldn't quite place . . . cinnamon, maybe. Whatever it was, it was glorious. I leaned forward, drawn by a force almost like magnetism, but before I could whisper something romantic (Yeah, I so wish) and touch my lips to hers, she jumped up, stammering nervously (not even I could understand her), and plopped back down as far away as possible in the tiny part-of-air-balloon-where-you-sit. (What? I don't know what it's called!)

"Sorry, I . . . um . . . needed to fart," she explained. I could practically feel her embarrassment radiating from five feet away, where I was sprawled on an uncomfortably lumpy sandbag. At least she wasn't depressed that the person she loved had deprived her of a kiss, after seemingly leading her into it . . . But, I realized, maybe she wasn't ready. After all, she _was_ only thirteen . . . not that I had any more experience than she did . . . hmm . . . how to reassure her? . . . It was just then that I remembered what her excuse for jumping up and fleeing potential PDA had been, and commenced a hysterical laughing fit.

"Girls . . . don't . . . fart . . ." I chocked out between bursts of laugher.

Oops, now she was angry; spitting like a cat. Huh. I thought girls only had hissy fits on TV. "They do too! At least I'm not as bad as my friend Liz – her farts are the worst in the world and she can't even smell them, so she doesn't know how much she's torturing everyone else!"

"How can you not be able to smell your own farts?" Curiosity distracted me from my laughter (but I carefully saved Ella's farting excuse in the back of my brain for future teasing opportunities. Teasing is one of the most entertaining activities on this earth. Besides maybe blowing things up. And making out with Ella. Not that I've ever done that before. I just _imagine_ what it would be like. And in my imagination, it's pretty dang enjoyable.)

"She can't smell anything at all. It's kinda sad, but good for her in some ways, too. She's probably the only person on the planet who doesn't have to be afraid of skunks," Ella added with a slight giggle.

"I suppose so," I murmured, smiling slightly. Witty, clever, funny . . . that was my Ella.

We fell into a companionable silence, Ella gazing out into the yonder and me alone with my thoughts. Well, not alone exactly, but . . . oh, you get my point. It was one of the things I loved best about Ella – her ability to know when to talk and when to be silent. If I were doing this with, say, Nudge, she would be continually chattering about things nobody but she knew about, much less cared about. My angel, however, knew that sometimes, silence is better than words, because words convey thoughts, but silence conveys emotions.

The thought of Ella's friend, Liz, who couldn't smell, was stuck in my mind. _"She can't smell anything at all. It's kinda sad, but good for her in some ways, too."_ I wondered what it would be like, not being able to smell. Never to know that the real beauty of a flower was contained in its scent, or to take in the aroma of home-cooking, or the fresh clean smell of spring after a hard winter. But to never have to deal with skunks, farts, Erasers, gas after explosions . . . Would I trade my lack of sight for lack of smell? I would think that not being able to smell would affect one's taste (I think I learned that on a science-y program Max made us watch a few years ago) . . . was it worth it? One thing that I realized, once I thought about it, was that not being able to smell would be easy to hide. Unlike blindness. And not being able to smell wouldn't matter in a fight. Unlike blindness. Still, I had gotten used to my blindness, and I still don't know, what is it like, with no smell? . . . a worthy debate.

While I pondered this weird idea – I knew of people who were blind, deaf, and mute, but had never heard of this idea of not being able to smell before – I knew that our hot air balloon was drifting slowly through the cloud-stuffed cerulean sky. Back in her pre-balloon-riding hyper stage, Ella had described the balloon to me. Faded stripes of brick red and emerald green ran across it ("Like Christmas decorations!"), the heavy papery material that had been filled with helium occasionally broken by patches of silver duct tape that glinted in the mid-day sunlight. Dangling from jet-black cables was the basket where Ella and I fought for space among huge scratchy sandbags, complicated balloon controls that, thanks to a beginner course in hot air balloons, I understood how to use, and a GPS navigation system to help us back to where we obtained the monstrous, helium-filled thing. Wind was taking a day off, so at the moment we were simply floating high in the sky, detached from anything in the world that could hurt us.

A slight rustling beside me pulled me out of my thoughts like a fish pulled out of water. Ella was once again sitting beside me, her hand tentatively reaching for mine, asking without words if it was okay. I took her hand firmly in mine. It was soft and supple, except for a couple of blisters that she had told me were from too much practice on her school's monkey bars. My breath caught as I realized the impact of this touch; I was holding hands. With the love of my life.

That was when she spoke, dashing my barely-formed hopes.

"So . . . you guys are leaving soon, right?"

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**Iggy: DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUNNNN!**

**me: I enjoy writing cliffhangers, but hate reading them.**

**Iggy: And thus we have proved that you are evil ... AW DARNIT I SOUND LIKE YOUR DAD!**

**me: *slaps Iggy again* That is SO fun to do.**

**Iggy: OW!**

**me: The next chapter will be up hopefully in a week, cause school started for me today and it is TORTURE (waking up at 5:45am, anyone?)**

**Iggy: Review, or the fluffy bunnies of DOOM will eat your soul**


	3. Turbulence

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**CHAPTER 3: TURBULENCE**

**Disclaimer: I'm too tired to think of a clever disclaimer right now, so ... I don't own Maximum Ride. Or Hot Air Balloon by Owl City. Or Warriors Abridged (which I took a quote from).**

**Sorry this chapter took so long, but I was busy with school crap, and so was CrazyNerdyFangirl, so between the 2 of us it takes a while to finish a chapter. SORRY!**

**Iggy: THAT IS NO EXCUSE!**

**me: GET OUT!**

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"So, you guys are leaving soon, right?"

I choked on my breath. Did she want me to leave? Did she hate me that much? Was she going to tell me to never come near her again (I'm not _that_ stalkerish, am I)? I would do whatever she asked, but it would kill me . . .

_Iggy, get a hold of yourself,_ I told myself sternly. Surely there was a logical reason Ella had asked if we were leaving soon . . .

_Yeah, because she's tired of you and can't wait for you to leave,_ another part of my mind commented sarcastically. _You're better than that, Iggy,_ it continued. _She likes you. It would be hard for her not to. _Sheesh. Since when am I hearing voices in my head? Am I turning into Max? Oh God no . . .

_Just answer the question already! _I lifted my head to hear Ella humming nervously.

"Um . . . yeah . . . " I stuttered. "Max wants us to leave Tuesday morning. We're heading for Canada. I dunno why. You'd think after Antarctica she'd learn to stay away from cold places but NO! Sure, it's remote, and nobody'll be able to find us there, but . . . cold is not fun. Cold is so . . . so . . ." I trailed off.

"So cold?" Ella finished for me.

"Yeah, that," I mumbled.

"It's really too bad you're leaving so soon," the love of my life added. Wait, what? "I wanted to get to know you better."

So . . . I was right? Or half of me was right, anyway. Instead of hating me and wishing I was as far away from her as possible, she wanted to get to know me better.

In more ways than one, perhaps? Wink wink nudge nudge.

No, I couldn't dare to hope for that. After all, I was just a mutant, with no formal education, no sight, and no chance of a normal life. Exquisite Ella (Haha, I alliterated! Betcha didn't know I could do that!) was worth so much more than I could ever be.

If she wanted to "get to know me better", it was probably so that she could boast to her friends about how she had enticed a boy two years older than her. Or something like that. Don't ask me how girls work. Either that or she was just being nice to me because I was blind.

Then the Flock would leave, and I'd never have the privilege of being graced with her presence ever again (or at least until the next time Max decided she wanted to visit her mom). Meanwhile, I'd be fighting my ass off against mutants and creeps and super-villains and bleep knows what else without Fang, one of my best friends, or even free time to make bombs in!

Sometimes it seems like my entire life is a conspiracy to ruin my life. Which doesn't even make any sense, BUT IT DOES IN MY HEAD!

Now, the real question was: did I deserve it? The life-ruining, I mean.

**The Sucky Qualities of Iggy (aka The List of DOOM):**

**blind**

**2% bird – wings, air sacs, all that jazz**

**rambles a lot (at least in his head)**

**annoying**

**a "pervert"**

**has some form of ADHD**

**has no last name?**

**disgusting**

**enjoys blowing things up**** wait, no, that's a GOOD quality!**

**parenthetical**

**careless**

**has anger issues**

**did I mention blind?**

Still deeply pondering what else I could add to the List of DOOM, I noticed Ella was humming again. After listening to her for a few seconds, I realized I recognized the tune! Another reason to love her: she had great taste in music. Softly, so as not to startle her, I began to sing along to her hum:

"_I'll be out of my mind_

_And you'll be out of ideas pretty soon_

_So let's spend_

_The afternoon in a cold hot air balloon_

_Leave your jacket behind_

_We knelt and touched the treetops over town_

_I can't wait_

_To kiss the –" _she abruptly ceased humming.

"What?" I was confused as to why she had stopped. After all, it was an awesome song. Full of intricate melody and technological effects that weaved in and out of the singer's lyrics, unlike much of today's popular music, it was a song worthy of being played over and over until everybody was completely sick of it. But no, instead lame, non-melodic excuses for songs are played until every human being person has been sucked like a moth to a flame into the disgusting mind-control that is today's pop. But I will resist! I will not be dragged into this blasphemy! (I don't actually know what blasphemy means, but it sure is fun to say!) I will keep my good (if a little old-fashioned) taste in music!

Yes, needless to say, I hate Justin Bieber.

Or is that an understatement?

Anyway.

"I got a – I wanted to – I was surprised you knew the song," Ella explained, answering my earlier question. Though that didn't make much sense . . . if that was the case, wouldn't she have stopped earlier? Huh.

"Of course I know the song! I have twenty-five Owl City songs on my iPod!" I exclaimed.

"Wait . . . you have an iPod?"

"Of course I have an iPod! Ella, just because the Flock is constantly on the run doesn't mean we don't have time to occasionally steal – er – _buy_ some luxury electronics."

"You _steal_ the electronics?" she chided. "People work hard to make those things! By stealing them, it's like slapping the guys who made them in the face! You have to pay –"

"It's not like we have any money," I snapped.

"Oh. Right. Sorry," Ella mumbled. I bet her face was redder than a ripe tomato. I wondered how Ella looked when she blushed. I bet she looked deli – er – cute. As I strived to picture her, it occurred to me that it was a sad, pathetic fact that I didn't even know what the girl I was madly in love with looked like.

Meanwhile, all that could be heard in the hot air balloon was the whistling of air as it went past us, like the sound of wind in the trees.

Trees . . .

_Iggy and Ella, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G …_

Yeah, I wish.

Or was it possible?

Time to initiate Plan A, or Plan Only At The Moment, or Plan Awesomesauce, or Plan Genius, or Plan Epicalness, or Plan Tell Ella Your Feelings Then Suck Up To Her So That She Pities You And Makes Out With You Even Though She Doesn't Like You And It Will Be The Greatest Thing Ever.

Whichever title you prefer.

"Ella?" I broke our (except for the wind) silence.

The sandbags rustled as she turned to face me, even though I couldn't see her. She respected me, and didn't take advantage of my blindness. Just another one of the things I loved about her. "Yeah?"

"I . . . I have something important to tell you."

"What?"

"I . . . really . . . like you," I whispered, my head down. Such an understatement. But I was too nervous about what her response would be and ashamed at revealing my true feelings (a big no-no in the Code of Manliness) to tell the whole truth.

The world seemed to hold its breath, the silence so thick you could cut it with a knife, as I waited for her reply.

After what seemed like five hours (but was probably only about thirty seconds), the reply came, quiet, but loud enough to shatter my heart like glass into a thousand tiny pieces.

"Iggy, I don't like you, -"

But before she could finish her sentence, the impossible happened.

_Zoom! Whoosh! Bump! Tip! Scatter! Slide!_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"ELLA!"

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**Iggy: DUN DUN DUN DUUUUUUNNNN!**

**me: WE KNOW IT'S A CLIFFHANGER YOU DON'T HAVE TO EMPHASIZE IT!**

**Iggy: AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO TALK IN ALL CAPS ALL THE TIME!**

**me: BUT I FEEL LIKE IT!**

**Iggy: GAH!**

**me: REVIEW! I HAVE SNICKERDOODLES!**

**Iggy: WHICH IN CASE YOU DIDN'T KNOW ARE AWESOME, CINNAMON-SUGAR-COVERED COOKIES!  
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	4. Soaring

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**CHAPTER 4: SOARING**

**SOUND THE TRUMPETS! IT'S ANOTHER CHAPTER! AND THE BEST OUT OF THE LOT SO FAR (I THINK)! I HAVE NO IDEA WHY THIS IS ALL IN CAPS! ENJOY!**

**Iggy: Aren't you forgetting something?**

**me: NO**

**Iggy: ... Disclaimer?**

**me: NO**

**Iggy: BUT YOU NEED ONE! YOU DON'T OWN MAXIMUM RIDE, JAMES PATTERSON DOES!**

**me: SEE, I DON'T NEED ONE! YOU DID IT FOR ME!**

**Iggy: ... Fnick.**

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I had no time to think, only time to react. I thrust out my wings, and they began flapping faster than a humming bird's in the fear that grew around my thoughts.

I leapt out of the balloon's basket, now wildly careening in the monster-sized gust of wind that had been generated from the airplane that had zoomed fifty feet or so above us (but still close enough to tip the balloon on its axis, throwing Ella out of it).

My thoughts and memories from this point on were a jumbled mess.

_Holy . . . shit . . . want to . . . drag that plane . . . to hell . . . gotta . . . save . . . Ella . . . AAAH! . . . turn . . . where is she . . . jump . . . dive . . . swoop . . . direction of scream . . . AAAH! . . . turn . . . fainter . . . no . . . NO . . . down . . . faster than a racecar . . . stop . . . bad wind . . . thump! . . . got her . . . thank God . . . flap . . . back up . . . good wind . . . grab . . . toss . . . up . . . drop . . . OW! . . . can't let her see . . . pant pant pant . . .__bacon__…_

For a minute, all I could hear was our breathing. We sounded like dogs in heat. Yes, I have a messed up mind. In my head pounded a repeated rhythm of _she's safe she's safe she's safe_.

Which was good.

Because if she died, it would be like my own personal sun went out. I couldn't survive without her.

. . . I sound like Romeo again. Crap.

"Thanks, Iggy. You saved my life," Ella coughed out once she stopped hyperventilating. I saved her life. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Wait a second, maybe I could use that . . .

I was about to start forming Plan B when some immensely tiny part of my brain (the part that housed my almost-nonexistent knowledge of manners) reminded me that when somebody says "Thanks" to you, it's usually a decent idea to respond.

"It was no problem. Now I think we should turn the balloon around," I said coolly. What she had told me what seemed like forever ago was still banging around in my head, splattering the walls of my mind. _"Iggy, I don't like you."_ I suppose I respected her for being so blunt and not tiptoeing around the subject, but . . . I thought she was nicer than that. It didn't matter to me. I could just hole up in a closet or something until we left, never see her again. But of course I'd bring some bacon in with me. Because it's impossible to survive without bacon.

Not that that would help much. I know this will make me sound like a romantic sap, but I don't think I'll ever fall out of love with the glorious girl that is Ella Martinez.

"Do we have to go back already?" she broke into my thoughts.

"I only rented the balloon for an hour." I tried to keep all emotion from my voice. If she didn't like me, there wasn't any hope of my plan working. I might as well ignore her (and my emotional turmoil) as well as I could.

_Stop being a pessimist!_ yelled the voice in my head. Or other half of my mind. Whatever.

_I can be a pessimist if I want!_ the main part of my mind told it.

I turned on the GPS navigator, which instructed me to turn left, bring up one of our sandbags, and let a little air out of the balloon. All of this I did in sullen silence, purposefully not acknowledging the girl who had brought my heart to its fullness, then smashed it like it was worth nothing. Which might actually be true.

God, if you exist, would it kill you to give me some self-esteem? I honestly don't have any. Except when it comes to cooking and/or causing explosions. I do believe this might be a bad thing.

At any rate, I could feel Ella's (fully recovered) gaze on me, though I wasn't sure why. If she hated me, hadn't she already told me? Why wasn't she ignoring me back? Or at least saying _something_, not just staring at me like I was in a zoo for freaks.

*Cue the teen angst music*

And I don't even _like_ teen angst music. I left that kind of thing to our emo boy, Fang.

I was pondering the pros and cons of teen angst music (better than being depressed over Ella, right?) when the very girl I so loved and hated spoke.

"Iggy, I'm sorry. I don't _like_ you –"

And then, of course, my bubbling depression exploded in a mass of lava and screaming that could burn continents. This was one explosion that I did not enjoy.

"I know! I heard you the first time," I interrupted. "I'm not stupid. I understand the meaning of 'don't like'. You already made my life not worth living. You already broke my heart. Do you want to do it again?"

Might as well lay all my cards on the table, if I was never going to see her again.

Breathing heavily, I realized that I was gripping Ella's shoulders like a life line and had been shaking her vigorously like a leaf in the wind. Her shoulders were so warm underneath my ice-cold hands, but she was shivering with the wind, and because of my shaking.

"Sorry," I mumbled, losing my grip, but still holding on to her shoulders, reluctant to let go. Even if I was furious, I still loved her. Nothing could stop that. Ever so slowly, more cautious than a little kid pouring tea, I slid my right hand up to caress her cheek. It was warm and wet, almost as if she'd been...crying? Ella? Crying for me? Was it too much to hope for?

Could I even hope any more?

She simply stood on the floor of the balloon basket, caught in my embrace like a monkey in a cage. Not that Ella was a monkey. Accidentally, my hand drifted to her lips. Soft, supple, perfect lips. My face was mere inches away from hers. Somehow, her hand had come to rest against my cheek. The gentle breeze, so unlike the huge gust of wind from earlier, embraced us, like we were caught in a cocoon of air, apart from time and space. It was so perfect, I wished I could freeze this moment and live in it forever, before she pulled away like she was sure to do.

But then, the girl who meant more to me than anything spoke. Her breath heated my freezing palm as her lips moved like the fluttering of tiny wings against my hand.

"I love you."

Was I going deaf? Was I imagining things? Was she joking, playing a cruel trick on me? No way could she could have said it and really meant it. No way could beautiful, exquisite Ella love angry, blind, mutant freak me. No way could I hope for that again.

Or could I?

As her lips closed the gap between our faces, I decided that I could.

My self-esteem isn't _that_ bad.

Words could not describe this, both of our first kisses. It was sunshine, rainbows, being able to see, the feeling of warm summer rain, of steaming hot chocolate on your tongue, of kicking Eraser butt, of escaping death's door, of hearing a huge bomb go off, of eating chocolate chip cookies. Our lips moved in sync in ways I didn't think was possible.

Basically, it was every wonderful thing the human mind can conceive, and then some.

Of course, like all great things, it had to come to and end, but the words that came pouring out of Ella's mouth like water through a just-broken dam afterward made it worth it.

"Iggy, I love you. I always have and always will. You're amazing, and smart, and funny, and a great cook, and a wonderful friend, and . . . and the best kisser in the universe." – this part was whispered – "Not that I would know," she added quickly – "cause I've never kissed anyone else, but that was the best feeling ever and nothing could be better. I don't like you, I love you, and that was what I meant to say all along, only I kept getting interrupted, and I never wanted to hurt you, really I didn't, I would _die_ before I hurt you like that again, and then you saved my life anyway, so I love you even more for that. I love you. You have no idea how long I've waited to say that. I love you, I –"

Oh . . . the "I don't like it, I love it" trick. I remembered when Gazzy and I had spent a couple weeks driving Max crazy with that saying. Fun old times. I believed Ella. After the way she'd kissed me, it would be pretty much impossible not to.

"Ella," I insinuated, my index finger on her mouth, other arm around her (in my opinion) perfectly curved waist, forehead touching hers. "Yes, you did hurt me, but you fixed me, too, good as new – no, better. You're kind, clever, beautiful, exquisite, pure, innocent, mature, perfect in every way, everything a blind bird kid whose biggest hobby is blowing stuff up could ever wish for. It's like you're some kind of fairy tale dream. But if this is a dream –" I cupped her cheek and focused my sky-blue eyes in what I thought was her direction – "I never, ever want to wake up. I love you, Ella Martinez, and no matter how many cute girls I meet, how many times I get mutated, how far I travel away from you traveling the world with Max and her kill-the-bad-guys-to-save-the-world schemes, I'll never, ever stop. Ever."

Okay, so I'm akin to Romeo. So what? I'm totally past that now.

. . . Well, maybe not totally. But I'll stop commenting on it now.

I wondered if our declarations of love would bring me another kiss. I hoped so. It was like when a future alcoholic takes his first sip of beer – he craves more. Only . . . I'm willing to wait, if she wants to. Yes, I love her so much I can suppress my teenage boy hormones. Gasp. After all, she _is_ only thirteen.

But I didn't get a kiss.

Instead, Ella put into my mouth something not as wonderful as a kiss, but pretty darn close.

It was a chocolate chip cookie.

Without a doubt, the richest, most chocolately, most delectable chocolate chip cookie I had ever had the pleasure of tasting.

"I said I'd bring snacks, didn't I?" Ella explained, laughing at what was probably an expression of pure delight on my face.

"Are these the cookies Max is on a quest to find cookies with the same awesome quality of deliciousness as?" I asked between bites of cookie.

"She is? Really?" I suppose nobody had told her about Max's quest before. Pity. After all, they were her cookies. "You look kinda like she did when she first tried them, now that I think about it. Your expression, I mean. This is your first time eating chocolate chip cookies made from scratch, I assume?"

I nodded, too busy chewing the deliciousness to speak. I swallowed and resisted the urge to inquire as to where the rest of the cookies were hiding.

"You know," I began carefully. "Ella, life is a cookie. The world we live in, all the plants and animals and buildings and ideas we live in and around, that's the dough, the foundation of the cookie. Our friends and family, the people we love, those are the chocolate chips, the best part of the cookie. But you . . . you're the super-gigantic, super-dark, super-rich, more-delicious-than-Bacon-and-that's-saying-a-lot chocolate chip that takes up almost the entire cookie. Because that's what you are to me," I concluded, moving closer to her so that practically every part of our faces touched.

"Wow. That's deep," she stated, amazed.

"Thank you."

Suddenly skeptical, she queried, "Wait . . . you got that from the movie 'Bruce Almighty', didn't you?"

"Darn," I exclaimed. "I hoped you wouldn't notice!"

"Of course I noticed! It was a great movie!"

"The last part wasn't from Bruce, though," I whispered. "That was all me."

"I could tell," Ella replied. "It was the best part."

I grinned. "Because I am just that awesome."

"Eg-gy-zac-tally," she said, drawing the word out. "And for the record, you're _my_ giant chocolate chip that takes up the entire cookie, too." We both leaned in . . .

It was another forty-five minutes before we arrived back at the place where I had rented the balloon, and we got in trouble for over-flying our time and then not having money to pay for the extra, but we didn't care.

Let's just say that we were occupied.

Time flies when you're having fun.

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**Did you luffles it or hatuffles it? Is hatuffles a word? Is word a word? What is a word? What is a what? AAAAARGH!**

**FOR THE RECORD, THEY WERE NOT HAVING LEMONS. OR LEMONING. OR WHATEVER YOU CALL IT WHEN YOU'RE TRYING TO NOT BE INAPPROPRIATE. JUST THOUGHT I'D CLEAR THAT UP.  
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**Reviews are luffled. :D**

**Iggy: You're weird.**

**me: NO DUH.  
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	5. Landing

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**CHP 5: LANDING**

**First of all, I have to say I'm REALLYREALLYREALLY sorry this chapter took so long to post – see, I don't know what happened to CrazyNerdyFangirl, but she still hasn't said anything about beta-ing it (in the few weeks since I sent it to her), so I'm just posting it.**

**But as a reward-sorta-thing for you guys having to wait so long, I'm putting up an epilogue at the same time! Yes, the same time. Be happy. Very happy. **

**I think this chapter might be a little OOC, but I still kinda like it. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Still don't own Maximum Ride :(**

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That night, lying in a sleeping bag on the floor of the spare bedroom I was sharing with Dylan and Gazzy, it was impossible for me to sleep. Sleeping for me, that night, was like flying for a normal human. I listened in envy as my two roommates snored in harmony, wondering what time it was. One of the many disadvantages of being blind: you never know what time it is, unless of course somebody tells you, which they never bother to do. Plus, when you can't sleep, you can't watch the numbers on your clock, to help you tire your eyes out (according to Nudge, it works), you just have to listen to monotonous ticking. WHICH DOES NOT HELP AT ALL!

Finally, after what I imagined was a few hours of devising plans to destroy the room's alarm clock, I decided to go find the reason I couldn't seem to sink into slumber.

Carefully, so as not to bump into Dylan, I unzipped my neon orange sleeping bag and stepped onto the sort-as-cotton light gray carpet. Other than the evil ticking noise, and the snoring, nothing could be heard in the cramped bedroom. I felt for the door, taking slow, cautious steps with my arms straight out in front of me. About three of these brought me to a hard cement wall. Moving my hand downward and to the left (or was it right? I can never be sure) I found a block of ice attached to the wall.

Wait, what?

Why was a block of ice attached to a wall?

But why was the block of ice cylindrical? And gold-colored?

Wait a second . . .

It was the doorknob, wasn't it . . .?

Oops . . .

Once I had figured this out (and vowed never to mention my moment of stupidity to anyone), I turned the knob and found myself in the cramped hallway, where I fought for space amidst door handles and closets that protruded into the center of the auburn-tiled area. I padded a long like an assassin in the midst of his enemy's headquarters. Sixteen steps and I found myself on carpet again, my nose doused in the aroma of strawberry shampoo that I recognized as Ella's. (Shut up, I'm not a stalker.)

Listening to her breath, smelling her sweet scent, being so close (well, five feet away) to her warm body . . . I couldn't resist.

Crossing the room in one stride to settle beside her on the bed, I nearly tripped over Ella's overflowing periwinkle backpack and something that felt like . . . an arm? That couldn't be right.

But I had no time to dwell on the weirdly familiar shape that nearly sent my face straight into the floor as I pressed my lips to Ella's forehead and quickly slid them down to her lips (I had slightly miscalculated the location of her face, which her breathing had led me to).

I was in heaven.

Never, ever in a million years could I get used to the miraculous sensation of kissing Ella.

I mean, do the math: If an experience is the combination of all of what you used to think the best things in life were, then this experience must be _the best_.

_I'm the luckiest guy on the planet,_ I thought, stifling the urge to come up for air as I felt the warm breath, like damp air in a rainforest, of the girl I loved on my own.

Of course, I had to pull back out of surprise when I realized my lips weren't the only ones moving.

See, my plan had been to keep kissing Ella until she was pulled from the depths of slumber so that she wouldn't be scared when she awoke and awaken everybody else – which would completely suffocate, drown, demolish, and pound on the idea of us being alone.

Us being alone . . .

It still felt like a dream that I could say (or think) that . . .

I'm diversing again, aren't I?

"What are you doing here?" asked a contented whisper.

"Since when have you been awake?" I retorted.

"Since yesterday morning."

"Well, you have to go to sleep soon! You have school, don't you?"

She sighed. "One: I honestly couldn't sleep. Two: I can't stop thinking about you. Three: I don't want to go to school, not when you're here and you're leaving soon."

"Okay, okay." I stopped arguing. She was right – might as well enjoy as much time together as we could until it disappeared like water down a drain.

Suddenly, something in my brain lit up. Literally. Which is not nearly as fun as it sounds.

"Light bulb!" I exclaimed. "Ella, your school has its Halloween dance tomorrow night, right?"

"Yeah . . ." she answered, a little befuddled. "I was planning to go with some of my friends."

"Well, what if I took you? Like a date? A real one?"

"Omigod that's an awesome idea!" she enthused. "You're a genius! I'd love to go to the dance with you! Though . . . you might be forced to leave, being not from our school."

"So? Some time with you is better than no time," I told her, leaning in for a kiss.

And just like that, I was in heaven again.

Making out with Ella is like making out with an angel. An angel who had (who knows why) fallen in love with a devil, and abandoned her sister angels for him, both of them completely disregarding everything they had been taught over countless years for each other . . . hey, that sounds like a not-half-bad plotline! Maybe I could be a writer or something marginally similar, instead of just a cook and explosives expert (not that that isn't fun – it is – but being beat up by Max when Gazzy and I accidentally-on-purpose destroy something is most definitely not fun. It's kind-of pathetic that I'm scared of a girl, but Max is a formidable fore of nature. The tornado, the cyclone, the hurricane, the blizzard, the volcano, the earthquake . . . none can compare to the awesome destructive power of the Max, especially when she's bribed with chocolate chip cookies.)

Yes, I totally thought of all of this while making out with Ella.

Yes, I'm weird.

Deal with it.

Anyway, I was making out with Ella (you have no idea how much I enjoy thinking that) when something much less enjoyable happened.

At first, all I noticed was that Ella had gasped and pulled away from me like we were two opposite poles of a magnet. What was wrong? Had I done something to make her not like me any more?

For a fifteen-year-old guy, I sure am insecure. Is that a bad thing?

"WHAT . . . THE . . . HELL . . . IS . . . GOING . . . ON . . . HERE?" screeched a voice that, regretfully, I recognized immediately.

Speak of the fnicking devil.

When I snuck into Ella's room, I had forgotten that Max was currently sleeping in there too.

Needless to say, she was not exactly thrilled to find her little sister and second-in-command (after Fang left Max for Bacon – because that's what I'm convinced happened, whatever his letter told us – I became the second) making out in the middle of the night.

Understatement of the century.

Being the overprotective mother hen she was, Max assumed we were doing something . . . less appropriate.

When I heard her screech, I leapt off the bed and promptly fell on my butt on the floor. Which hurt more than the time I impersonated pudding with pain.

"W-we w-w-weren't doing a-anything," stammered Ella, who was already impersonating a little kid caught pinching cookies.

The Max snorted. "Obviously, you were doing something. Because either I'm completely oblivious, or Iggy isn't usually in your _bed_ in the middle of the night. Or –" she stifled a giggle completely out of key with her mood – "on the floor of your room in the middle of the night."

"Iggy! Are you all right?" Ella gasped, turning in my direction.

"Do you think I'm all right?" I grumbled (that is such a stupid question. If you have to ask someone whether or not they're all right, obviously they aren't), attempting to get to my feet and promptly falling on my butt again. "I fell ten feet!"

"My bed is only three feet above the ground," she contradicted me.

"Well, I fell three feet them. Still not fun. Now does anyone mind actually _helping me up_ instead of just snickering at me, because that's honestly quite rude?"

"Oh yeah, sorry," Ella mumbled, grabbing my hand and hauling me to my giant size-ten feet, her warm hands like the heat of the sun on my own.

"Thanks," I whispered in her ear, planting a quick kiss on her lips. Blushing, she gently pulled away.

The voice of the person whose anger I was most frightened of in the entire world had taken on a cold, hard, unbreakable edge. "You two are too young to have a . . . romance . . . or be together . . . or whatever you want to call it. It's probably a good thing we're leaving in a couple of days."

"B-b-but . . . we love each other!" Ella cried, or tried and failed to cry, as she was barely audible.

"Too bad you didn't figure that out a week ago, cause after Tuesday (or maybe sooner), you might not see each other ever again."

I could tell Ella was barely keeping back tears. If it hadn't been for the fact that I am a boy and boys don't cry, I probably would have been too. How could Max do this? Well, I knew _how_ she could, but why? Was she . . . jealous? But that wasn't fair to us . . . I hadn't been jealous when she and Fang . . . I know the world isn't fair, but . . .

The quick kiss, beautiful as the feeling of soaring above the world, reminded me of what I had to fight for. If Max didn't want me to be with Ella, she would make sure I never saw the girl I loved again. As had already been established (with the Romeo-worthy similes and whatnot) I would die if that happened.

Then, I remembered an old saying most likely from some TV show . . . Don't get mad, get angry. Or something like that. Wait, that doesn't make any sense. Never mind.

"Max, you aren't being fair," I began, squeezing Ella's hand for support. She squeezed back . . . and nearly broke my hand. Who knew girls could squeeze that hard? Anyway. "I know the world isn't fair, but seriously. Ella and I aren't too young to do what we're doing. I'm the same age as you are, and I bet you've done much more with Fang than we ever would, at least, not until we're older."

"Don't bring F-" she chocked on the word "-into this," Max hissed, her face, I imagined, resembling a volcano.

I continued as if she hadn't spoken – I didn't want to loose my nerve. "And even if you refuse to listen to reason – which wouldn't surprise me AT ALL – don't think I plan on listening to you. I love Ella and she loves me and nothing can stop me from leaving the Flock and staying here, you included. If you want me to never see her again, you can just GO TO FNICKING HELL!"

All the anger, resentment, hate, and despair I had felt over the past twenty-four hours was pounded into the missile of that last sentence and exploded in the face of the person who was staring at me like I had just told her the world been taken over by chocolate donuts. At least, I hoped she was. I don't think anyone had ever told her to go to hell before (though she had probably told lots of people that – especially Wall-Mart employees. She really hates them for some reason.)

That went over well, didn't it?

Haha. Cue sarcasm.

"If you want to leave, you can," came a voice from in front of me. Oh, right. Max was still here. Darn. "Just leave me alone with Dylan, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel left to suffer from my nonexistent cooking skills, completely ignore your part of the mission to save the world, most likely get yourself and Ella captured by evil scientists anyway . . ."

Who was I kidding? I couldn't just leave. Well, technically, I could, but Gazzy would murder me if I did. (Or at least try to murder me, or bribe me, or maim me, or . . . you get the point.) And what would I do if I left the Flock? Stay with Ella? Like staying put had worked out so well the last couple times we tried it. Find Fang? Like he would be so welcoming, after he practically entrusted me to make sure Max didn't get herself killed while he was gone, and I left like she meant less than a grain of sand to me. And anyway, even with all my enough-destructive-power-to-eliminate-Mars explosives, I couldn't fight Max. Fighting Max is like fighting a wall – everything bounces off her, but if you find just the right chink, she'll break. Only problem is, her chinks are so well-hidden and well-protected that they seem no different from the rest of the wall. Basically, it's impossible to break her. Unless, of course, either you're Fang or have the power of little-kid cuteness (neither of which I possess.)

Therefore, call me a coward (actually, don't call me a coward, I would probably blow you up), but I decided to give in.

On one condition, of course.

"I'll stay, but only if you let me be with Ella." The girl in question squeezed my hand again. All that was audible were some crickets as Ella and I held our breath.

This was the part where Max acted like a mean middle-aged father and guilt-tripped/scared me into doing things I had never wanted to –

"Are you sure?"

Wait, what? What kind of a question was that? A six-year-old question? Since when was Max not cruel and unforgiving when it came to anything that might get in the way of her plans? Was it National Surprise Iggy day or something?

"Yes . . ." I answered tentatively.

"Posivite?" she further interrogated.

"Yes."

"Positively sure?"

"Yes."

"Positively positive?"

"Look," Ella interrupted, taking a mouse-sized step forward for effect. "He agreed to stay with the Flock, we'll be careful, we probably won't see each other again for a horribly long time, can you just leave us alone now?"

Probably the best run-on question I had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

Max sighed. "Are you sure you'll be careful and Iggy isn't just taking advantage of you?"

"What, you don't trust me?" I exclaimed indignantly.

"_Should_ I trust someone who once blew up my entire supply of chocolate?" Max countered.

"Oh . . . good point."

"And yes, I'm sure," Ella answered the earlier question.

Max sighed again, the one that meant she was finally giving in – we could go to Disney World, see that concert, stay up late that night, whatever. "Fine. Go ahead. Carry on. But we _are_ leaving on Tuesday." (I suppose she had to retain at least _some_ dignity.) With that, she turned and marched out of the room, shutting the door with a loud – but not loud enough to wake anyone else – BANG.

"We did it, " Ella whispered in awe after a minute of shocked silence.

"We beat Max in an argument," I said, equally stunned.

She turned to face me. "Does that happen much?"

"Not without Fang or little-kid-cuteness-powers, no. Except for that one time with the Arabian squirrels and the pound of lettuce . . ." I replied.

"Do I want to know?" she asked giggling.

I shuddered at the memory. "No. Definitely not."

The girl I loved was still laughing. Her laugh was probably my favorite sound in the entire world. Yes, it even beat the sound of a well-engineered bomb going off. That's saying a lot.

Just then, I realized how jubilant I was. I had fought, and I had won, and I could keep Ella. Ella, Ella, Ella, Ella . . .

"You know, Ella, I love you."

"I love you too."

_And slowly lean in . . ._

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**GO! CLICK THE NEXT CHAPTER BUTTON! READ THE EPILOGUE! IT PWNS!**


	6. Epilogue: Egress

**LIFE IS A COOKIE**

**EPILOGUE: EGRESS**

**The epilogue, in my opinion, is the best part of the entire story. Just saying. **

**Iggy: You only like it because you wrote in some Fax.**

**Me: NO! Well, maybe. **

**Disclaimer: Do you really think I own Maximum Ride? Don't answer that.**

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"Iggy!"

"Ella!"

"Max!"

"FANG? WHAT IN THE NAME OF BACON ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"Um . . . waiting for you to come back here, cause I knew you would, so I can beg you to let me back into the Flock because I love you and I swear on my manliness that I'll never leave you again?"

"HOW . . . DARE . . . YOU . . . HAVE . . . THE . . . NERVE . . . TO . . . DO . . . THAT . . . NOW?"

"Ow! Ouch! Gah! What are you _doing_? THAT'S NOT SUPPOSED TO BEND THAT WAY!"

"That was the wrong time to make the I-love-you-let-me-come-back speech, wasn't it?" I whispered to Ella, who was, by this point, enfolded in my arms, her head on my shoulder.

"No kidding," she agreed with a giggle that made my heart soar. All my worries that she might have found another guy she liked more than me in the last three years since the previous time I'd see her evaporated like a flash of lightning.

Yes, three years. Long story short, the Flock had circumnavigated the globe (or at least the North American corner of it) a couple times, killed a few evil scientists, persuaded some government-types to become more eco-friendly, and somehow managed to convince some New Mexicans that Dylan was a witch and had to be burned. According to Max's voice, we were done saving the world, so we could actually live normal lives now, or at least as normal as your life can be when you've got wings. In general, we did a Pluto-sized amount of butt-kicking. As fun as butt-kicking can be and as much as the time flew by (see what I did there?), nothing compares to the amazingness of being with Ella. Her laughter like pealing bells, her sweet scent, her creativity, her beauty, her warmth, her kindness, her intelligence . . . I could go on all day, but I won't torture you.

"I missed you so much," I murmured into her soft, luscious hair.

"I missed you too," she replied.

At that moment, Ms. Martinez strode out of her house.

"Hi everyone! Max, Iggy, Nudge, Angel, Total . . . Wait a second . . . Max, why is Fang's arm bent behind his back?" she inquired.

"I'm torturing him for abandoning us," Max explained coolly.

"Ah. Okay. I'm sure he deserved it. Carry on, as long as you don't kill him."

"WHAT?" Fang howled. "You're supposed to make Max stop!"

"She'll stop when she stops," Ms. Martinez reassured him.

"How does that make any sense?"

"Just grin and bear it. If you really love her, you would take it like a man."

"Hmp-OWOWOWOWOWOW!"

"Ms. Martinez?" I interrupted. "Can I borrow Ella for the next hour or so?"

"We'll just be over there." Ella pointed to somewhere behind my head.

"Okay, I don't see why not. Just don't do anything you know I wouldn't like."

"Of course not!" the two of us exclaimed in unison.

"Dinner's at six," Ms. Martinez called, returning to the house.

"Hey, Ella?" I asked, a sudden thought popping into my head.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever feel like your whole life is like a story line, made up, written, elaborated, and edited for pointless drama by somebody else?"

She giggled again. I'd missed that sound so much in the past years . . . "Nah, why would you think that?"

"I dunno . . . maybe because the fact that you love me is too good to be actually real."

"If that's true, then the fact that _you_ love _me_ is too good to be actually real, too."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

And with those final words, we grasped each other's hands like lifelines and strode off down the hill into the nonexistent sunset.

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**Iggy: *sings to the tune of Beethoven's 5****th**** symphony (at least I think it's the 5****th****)* THIS IS THE EEEEEEEND … THIS IS THE EEEEEEEND …**

**Me: *slaps Iggy* Quiet! I have things to say!**

**Okay. So. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, read, or even glanced at this story. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you had fun reading it. *tackle-glomps everyone*  
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**If you enjoyed this, it might be a good idea to put me on Author Alert, because very, very soon, I'll be posting a crossover fanfic between Maximum Ride and the Hunger Games. (If you do put me on alert, I'll give you a sneak peak!)**

**Just, you know, advertising my own stories a little. :D**

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**(PSSST! I'll let you in on a little secret: if you give me enough reviews, Iggy gives you a little reward. Which may or may not involve explosives and Bacon.)**

**(Come on, you know you want it!)**


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